


New Game

by Araceil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Adventure, Gamer AU - Freeform, Gen, Humour, I don't know what I'm doing, M/M, None - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Persona 5 game dynamics, Romance, Slight mocking of overused tropes, no betas we die like men, not enough to be called an actual crossover, there is no plan, timetravel, when I can think of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22617757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araceil/pseuds/Araceil
Summary: Caught up in some kind of clusterfuck while trying to help Dennis and Terry with their magi'tech project to introduce the Wizarding World to the wonders of Playstation and X-box games, Harry finds himself ten years in the past, in his cupboard, facing circumstances he is ENTIRELY unprepared to deal with.Well, if this is some kind of coma dream then at least he could entertain himself by playing along for now.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 149
Kudos: 1060





	1. Chapter 1

' _Note to self_ ,' Harry thought painfully, 'N _ever help Dennis and Terry with their Magi'tech experiments again. I don't care how much Dennis wants to introduce wizards to Playstation or X-box. That_ Hurt.' It felt like all of his bones had been yanked out through his nostrils and someone drilled a hole at the back of his skull to slurp his brain out like a coconut.

Which meant he was less than appreciative when the wall began to hammer like someone slapping against a shed door above his head. “Up!” a shrill female voice commanded, continuing to slap the shed door – shed door? The fuck? Where was he? If he had been _dumped_ in someone's _shed_ he was going to be having some damn words with Dennis and

He stared blearily at the crayon drawing in front of him.

Less than twelve inches from his face. A crayon drawing he hadn't seen since he was eleven. Because he'd forgotten to get it out of his cupboard when the Dursleys moved him to Dudley's second bedroom, and he had been too reluctant once free of it to risk going back inside just for a drawing. Just for a single crayon scribble of a red headed lady and a black haired man rendered in a child's hand. He twisted his head, taking in the wooden stairs above his head, laced with ancient grey spider webs, the tired plywood shelves with their shoeboxes of clothes and school projects and little knick-knacks he was able to save for himself by hiding them in socks and between projects. His _junior school workbooks_. His _homework planner_. That one copy of The Hobbit he had stolen from the school library and hidden by putting his English grammar text cover over it. The ball-point pen and pencil doodles he remembered doing in the back of his history and maths exercise books, torn out and blue-tacked to the shelves, Stormtroopers and Darth Vader staring down at him in their lumpy glory.

There was a hard lump in the back of his throat as he looked up at the bare lightbulb above his head and then down to his feet where the vents to his _cupboard_ were open, letting early morning light into the tiny space, letting him see his nightmares made manifest in soft grey and brown gloom. Golden motes of dust drifting lazily in the thin golden beams pouring in through the cracks.

Slowly and carefully so as not to bump his head, he slid down his lumpy camp-bed and sat up. He turned the light on and examined himself, feeling numb and disbelieving because – this had to be a mistake.

He was _twenty_ last he checked.

A week and a half before his twenty-first birthday.

George had been planning the party for months. Ever since he discovered the existence of America's Las Vegas he had been waiting for an excuse, an opportunity to go there. Molly had wanted Ron's last birthday to be at the Burrow, and none of the Weasley brothers would entertain the concept of taking Ginny to Vegas, so it ended up being decided for Harry's twenty-first. A week in the city of sin. The red head had been more excited about it than Harry had.

And now here he was.

Staring down at unscarred, pale, eleven year old hands.

no. _Ten year old hands._ Because Uncle Vernon had given him Dudley's second bedroom before his birthday, when the first letters to Hogwarts arrived.

He was ten.

Ron and Hermione would be ten too.

Would they – remember as well?

If they didn't – if they _didn't then – he was alone. He –_ Tears burned in his throat, choking him.

“Up!” Aunt Petunia commanded, rapping smartly on the cupboard door, “I need you to mind the bacon while I finish dying your uniform!”

His uniform?

Oh. Stonewall.

His letter to Hogwarts was today.

He had already set the snake loose at the zoo and ended up locked in his cupboard for over a month. He'd missed the end of Year Six for that, by the time he'd gotten out it was already the Summer Holidays. He had never had the chance to say goodbye to anyone he went to school with, which wasn't much of a less but with the knowledge that Dudley wouldn't be able to hurt any of them anymore he remembered being at least a little hopeful that someone would sign his school sweater before he left. Say at least one kind thing to him before they 'grew up'. Dudley mocked him for ages about no one caring enough to write on his sweater.

He had spent a _lot_ of time with his auror mandated therapist talking about the Dursleys, about his childhood. About child abuse, and forgiveness and survival.

“Boy!”

He snatched his shoes from under his campbed and he apparated to the park.

He didn't shiver in his night clothes as he jammed the oversized worn flat trainers stuffed with newspaper onto his bare feet. Being early summer it was warm enough that he could sleep outside if he needed to. But he would draw attention if anyone saw him – and it made anger simmer in the pit of his stomach. Let them. Let them _see_. They'd been ignoring him for long enough, ignoring what the Dursleys were doing, _let them get a bellyful of what their negligence had wrought_.

He marched down the road, down through the fancy three floor detached townhouses and their off-road drive-ways and multi-panelled elegant windows, past the quiet greasy spoon cafe next to the post office, and the petshop that sat on the corner of the highstreet, and straight to the police station on the opposite side of the road.

And froze.

If he went in there, he would open a can of worms that would never be stuffed back inside.

It would, at best, result in him and Dudley going into care where at least Dumbledore's overly pointed nose would ensure they remained together for the sake of the blood-wards. At worst, he would end up living with Marge Dursley or any one of his _magical_ relatives – Death Eaters almost all, and then _Dudley_ would learn what it was like to be on the receiving end of the kind of treatment his parents had given Harry. Only with the very real fear of being killed and his body dumped or vanished. Torture wouldn't be out of the question either, considering some of them.

Then there was magic itself. How would a foster carer handle it? Riddle's Orphanage hadn't dealt with it in a particularly shining manner, but then again, they had been in the middle of the Blitz and Riddle had been torturing small children and animals back then in the 30's. A little leeway he could give Wools Orphanage on that front. Child Protection Laws these days would have other things to say, but he knew full damn well the system was over-taxed and under-supported. Adoption was rare for children their age, and Dudley's many issues would make it impossible for them to be adopted if they went as a pair, which they would. The blond would be a high-risk/high-difficulty case, there would be very few that could handle him. Then there was Hogwarts. Any decent human being would be incredibly concerned with everything that happened at Hogwarts, everything that happened to _Harry_ in regards to his adventures in Hogwarts. The Dursleys, despite everything, had given him a level of freedom that no sane or reasonable parent or guardian would or should give their child/ward. Which at the time was distressing because he literally was a child, but right now, given that he was actually twenty, a war-veteran, and a trained auror, was significantly less of a concern.

...He could always run away entirely?

Except no. Dumbledore would send search parties by the thousands. And then there was the _highly_ illegal deluminator that spied on him using his _blood_ (which when talking about with his therapist caused quite a bit of property damage when he realised the old man was _fully aware of exactly how the Dursleys treated him because he had been spying on him the whole time_ ).

The Gryffindor turned away from the police department and stalked back up the road towards the park, arms folded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, missing the slight scratch of stubble that had _finally_ been starting to grow in (delayed puberty was a _whore_ , thanks Petunia for the malnutrition).

He would just have to deal with the Dursleys.

Negotiate for better standards of living. The wards should be as charged as they could physically be, meaning that Harry need only spend two weeks a year in that house – he could live elsewhere in the meanwhile. Yeah. That would work out quite nicely. It had been so long that Dumbledore was unlikely to be paying him so much attention anymore, confident in whatever assessment he had made of Harry's personality and abilities from spying on him. As long as the wards remained as they were, he would be none the wiser of Harry's not actually _being_ at the Dursleys.

A quick trip to Diagon Alley, an hour with a potions' kit, and he would have an auror grade temporary Aging Potion that would stand up to any scrutiny and enable him to rent an apartment in the Alleys and other residential areas of either Hogsmeade or London. Maybe abroad? Somewhere sunny and warm – nah. Hogsmeade would be better, thinking about it, he could sneak into the forest or the moors to practice more destructive magics, and the floos would be closer, and he could sneak in and out of Hogwarts at his discretion. Free unrestricted access to the Library, he thought with a grin, Hermione would –

Do nothing. Because she was an eleven year old girl right now.

And until he received confirmation one way or the other that was how he would treat her until she proved otherwise. It – it wouldn't be fair to treat her like the woman she would grow into at this point, to expect that much from her, to want her support when she hadn't even learned to stand on her _own_ legs just yet.

But first, _Plan_.

Step one, go back to Number 4. He would read the Dursleys' the Riot Act – or rather, the Child Protection Act and all associated legislature, and present them with their ultimatum deal: Two weeks of the year they would put him up in the Guest Bedroom. He would make it easier on them by keeping himself to himself, eat his own food, clean up after himself, etc etc. All they had to do was keep a roof over his head, not interfere with his comings and goings, _and stop lying to the neighbours about him_. Gods, it had caused him no end of trouble when his name started popping up in muggle media as he busted cases wide open and worked with high up Government official, muggle reporters had flooded Little Whinging looknig for juicy gossip and walked away with the conclusion he must have falsified evidence. He'd almost _lost_ a case because of those childhood rumours about St Brutus'. In exchange for that, Harry wouldn't report them to the police and he would be gone for ninety percent of the year.

All the Dursleys' had to do was be decent human beings. A tall order he knew, very difficult, but he had faith that with the right motivation they could be appropriately trained.

He apparated back to the house, just in time to catch the postman as he headed up towards the front door.

“Morning. I'll take those,” he called as he made his way up behind the man.

“Corr, you're out early!” the man exclaimed, handing over the small wadge of letters and postcards.

Harry wrinkled his nose as he took them, “Aunt Petunia sent me out for eggs. Cornershop didn't have any though,” he complained unhappily as he flipped through to find _his_ letter and grinned, not particularly having to pretend excitement when he saw it.

“Have a good day, lad,” the postman said as he headed towards Number 6.

“You too, sir,” the Gryffindor returned as he tucked the letters under his arm and examined his own – only to freeze and stare at the black calligraphy glaring up at him. _Black_ calligraphy. _Not_ emerald green.

**HARRY POTTER  
and the  
PHILOSOPHER'S STONE**

**NEW GAME  
LOAD  
OPTIONS  
** _select an option by tapping it and opening your envelope to read your letter_

He looked around over his shoulder in confusion. Was this – was this a prank? A bit elaborate for a prank wasn't it? Something like this, especially putting Harry back in the cupboard, George would have never. He knew better. Was he _hallucinating or something?_

Timetravel he could buy, but his Hogwarts letter looking like the start menu of one of Dennis' RPG games was a bit...

Oh what the hell. If he was in a coma and hallucinating this then at least he had some entertainment.

He tapped Options, curious about what it would offer him, and felt the envelope grow warm. The ink on the front vanished, sinking back into the parchment and reappeared as an ornate calligraphic arrow pointing towards the back of the envelope. He flipped it open and saw a second arrow pointing to the wax seal. He cracked it open and pulled out what should have been his Hogwarts letter, but was in fact two completely different sheets of parchment.

**DIFFICULTY: easy – normal – HARD – hellish  
** **AUTOSAVE: on – OFF  
** **CO-OP PLAY: on – OFF  
** **HINTS MENU: on – OFF  
** **HUD: on – OFF  
** _tap any option for a summary of its function, tap your preferred option to switch_

He stared at the first page, trying to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. He tapped the 'Difficulty' and watched as the bottom of the page bled with ink.

**DIFFICULTY:  
** **EASY** – All bloodline talents are available. All bloodline and Conquest vaults are available. Social links grow at x2 speed. Stats start at +2. EXP increased by +20%. Item drop rate increased by +10%. Enemy ATK Damage at -25%. Enemy Damage Received at +25%.  
 **NORMAL** – Some bloodline talents are available. Bloodline vaults are available.  
 **HARD** – No bloodline talents are available. Only Trust Vault is available. Social links receive delayed growth depending on Public Opinion. Stats start at -2. EXP decreased by -20%. Item drop rate decreased by -10%. Enemy ATK Damage at +20%. Enemy Damage Received at -20%.  
 **HELLISH** – You are crippled by extenuating circumstances (Childhood trauma, horcrux, curses, seals, etc). Vaults are unavailable. Social links grow at ½ speed and can reverse depending on Public Opinion. Stats start at -5. EXP and Item drop rate decreased by -50%. Enemy ATK Damage at +50%. Enemy Damage Received at -50%.

He gaped. His game had been _preset_ to Hard? And _it could get worse?!!_ He tapped Easy and was gratified to see the words change colour, becoming bright emerald green as 'hard' faded once more into grey and lost its uppercase font. With his mouth dry, he then began to check the rest of the available options and what they did.

**AUTOSAVE:** In the event of your death, return to the last place you slept before hand.

_Yes. Yes. Very much sliding that to ON, THANK YOU VERY MUCH._

**CO-OP PLAY:** Team up with others in the game, bring them into your party to share items, menu options, and work together. They too will become participants in the Game! Choose your Party members wisely, this cannot be undone!

He slid that to ON as well. Just in case. If Hermione and Ron had come back with him by some fluke or stroke of good fortune given the many life debts and magical bonds between the three of them, if _Dennis or Terry_ had come back, which was also a possibility because they were the reason that _Harry_ was here, he had every intention of dragging them into the insanity of their own creation. He was NOT doing this on his own again! His therapist was absolutely 100% clear on that! He did not have to do everything himself and nor should he! It was detrimental to his mental health to try and shoulder all of that on his own – that was why his personal relationships had suffered so hard and how he and Ginny had broken up so badly.

**HINTS MENU:** A quick tap of a copper framed portrait and they will remind you of outstanding quests and tasks as well as provide the occasional piece of insight – such as a suggestion to look at a certain book or try a particular teacher. Three hints per day, use them wisely! Some portraits give better answers than others!  
 **MINI-MAP:** Your handy-dandy mini-Marauder's Map, now in pocket edition. Store a scrap of parchment in your pocket, any parchment, and say the magic words. That scrap will operate like a scrap of the Marauder's map. The size of your scrap affects how much you can see around you.  
 **HUD:** That little thing in the corner of your eye, is it a bird? Is it a plane? No. It's how much health and magic you have left. It also reveals whether you have been poisoned, cursed, or received a support buff from a party member.

He slid them _all_ on, unsure of how to actually feel and trying desperately to compartmentalise and wait until he could get somewhere safe and quiet to process everything that was going on. Sure it might be a hallucination, _but what if it wasn't_. He would deal with it later when it was safe. First, the Dursleys. He would pack his belongings, go to Diagon Alley, get himself an apartment in Hogsmea- no, he would come _back_ to the Dursleys' with everything he needed for Hogwarts and making his Aging Potion, actually brew it, then go back to Diagon or Hogsmeade to get his apartment.

He would bust out the meditation and processing techniques his therapist recommended when he got there, when he could ward it and make it safe, when he had a _wand_ – any wand, to protect himself with. He physically could not meditate or work on his occlumency without being in a completely safe environment. Yet another reason why his lessons with Snape had failed so abysmally. He did not feel safe with that man, and he never would and – oh hell. Harry was going to have to construct entirely new shields to throw off the fact he even _had_ shields! Because Snape would check. Dumbledore would check. They would both _obsessively_ scan his brain and his emotions to make sure he wasn't Voldemort 2.0.

Getting that apartment now became priority number one.

He checked the second sheet of parchment and paused when he realised this one was longer and had a lot more options.

**AVAILABLE BLOODLINE TALENTS:  
** **Parselmouth  
Birdtongue  
Flight  
Metamorph  
Necromancy  
Shadowmancy  
Firemancy  
Natural Legilimency  
Empathy  
Precognition  
Natural Animagus  
Magical Animagus  
Creature Ancestry**

**HAIR COLOUR: White blond – blond – brown – red – BLACK  
** **HAIR LENGTH: bald – cropped – SHORT – shaggy – shoulder – long – extra long  
** **EYE COLOUR: blue – GREEN – brown  
** **GLASSES: ON – off**

**ADJUST SCAR LOCATION**

This was... _something_. He frowned and shifted the parchments in his hand – the one at the bottom was now a shiny silver mirror. But when he put it on top of the hair and bloodline talents page, the silver bled away back into what it was before, showing the Difficulty levels and other options. He flipped them back over and eyed the bloodline talents section, absently guessing that the mirror parchment was for the section below the bloodlines so he could see how he looked.

All of the talents were selected. Even Necromancy and Creature Ancestry, and there didn't seem to be an option to turn any of them off like on the other page. He tapped Necromancy hopefully, the emerald green ink rippling and providing an explanation below.

**NECROMANCY:** A talent born of the Potter line's forebares the Peverells', children of Death themselves. Necromancy comes as easily as breathing to you. Both your prior experiences with death and your ancestral connections to it have given you the kind of connection that Masters would weep, and kill a great many people, to possess. The dead will answer to your command, your summons, and never turn a hand against you – even if you were not the one to summon them. You are a being of death and it will follow your footsteps and protect you where-ever you may go.

He grimaced and tapped it again, hoping to deselect or turn it off but it refused. He tapped Creature Ancestry in mild defeat – he could just ignore that talent, never use it, if he didn't, no one need ever know it existed.

**CREATURE ANCESTRY:** One of your relatives was a magical being of great power, please elect one of the following- **  
Veela  
Faerie (Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn, Wilde)  
Selkie  
Elf**

He grimaced again, shaking his head, and tried to tap another subject only for the text to flash a dull grey and remain unchanged. Ugh. Apparently he _had_ to select what his inhuman relative had been. He knew Veela had an awful lot of difficulty with sex appeal and he would rather not deal with that. HE HAD ENCOUNTERED ENOUGH FAE AS AN AUROR TO LEAVE THAT OPTION WELL ENOUGH ALONE, NO THANK YOU. Selkies, that was merfolk, not too bad considering the other options. And by Elf, what did they mean? House elf? That was the only kind he knew and no offence to Dobby or Kreacher or Winky, but Harry wanted to try and hit 5'5” minimum this go over.

He selected Selkie. Having merfolk blood wouldn't be that bad, would it?

**CREATURE ANCESTRY, SELKIE:** One of your relatives was a True Selkie, the magical traits have been buried under increeding and have finally popped back up with the infection of fresh blood your mother provided to degrading genetics. You will develop a fine seal fur coat at your majority and seek out extensive bodies of water. You will possess both your Selkie form and an animagus form should you choose to pursue one. To turn into a seal you must don your fur coat, to become human, simply remove it. But be warned, should anyone steal your coat, you will be magically bound to them until you find it again, forced to live as a human and do their bidding. Any damage to your coat is damage to you. As part of the magicks binding you to whomever has possession of your coat, you will be able to provide children regardless of yours or your partners' gender. Once you regain your coat, no matter what you leave behind, be it children or possessions, you must return to the ocean or a lake or a large body of water and _never_ approach them ever again.

Horror turned his stomach and he immediately flipped to the first Options page and dialled the difficulty to Normal, and away from Easy – if he couldn't deselect any of those options then he could bloody well make sure it wasn't available to BE selected!!

He checked back and _thank fuck_ found that all of the bloodline talents were now grey and unselected, except for Parselmouth which he knew came from the Horcrux and was not possible to remove just yet.

**BLOODLINE TALENTS** – _please select only three_

Okay, okay, phew. He could manage this. No Necromancy, no Creature Ancestry. No – no _magical animagus form_. God the fits that would be thrown in the Transfiguration community if anyone found out. No, no thank you, he did not wish to be a subject of intense study, did not want to vanish into the Department of Mysteries, thank you, no.

Metamorph would be the most useful, he tapped it and read the quick bo that explained he was a complete shapeshifter but would require effort and practice at it, and it would level up like any other skill the more he practiced and used it. Sweet. He would be using it _extensively_ – perhaps he wouldn't even need to use those Aging Potions?

Flight had him curious, he read that he could either levitate and fly like Superman judging by the description, or he could sprout _winds_ and fly like that character in the X-men, Warren Worthington, the Angel.

Birdtongue, similar to Parselmouth but purely the ability to communicate with birds. Interesting, but that was all it was. He was going to go with a no. As interesting as it would be to actually _speak_ to Fawkes and the other birds, he didn't know if the ability was looked at in much the same way as Parselmouth or not. In the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings, some birds were servants of Sauron. He didn't want to run the risk of _two_ evil animal speaking abilities doing him in.

Shadowmancy was – wielding shadows like an actual physical object, without the need for a wand. Walking through them to _teleport_ , wrapping himself up in them to hide, storing items in patches of shadow and then pulling them out again later in other locations, which, not going to lie, sounded useful as fuck.

Firemancy was much the same, wielding fire without the need for a wand but it also allowed for the purification of curses, possession, disease, and even the warding away of evil spirits. Something they could all do with in the coming days. It was, according to the bio, his mother's protection made manifest.

Natural Legilimency was what it said on the tin. He could read other people's mind with far more subtly and care than Snape had ever read his, sometimes even delve _into_ their minds and walk amongst a metaphysical mindscape and interact with it. Rearrange it. Destroy it.... How about _no?_ Not for him.

Empthy? Again, a massive no. Being an empath around so many goddamn _teenagers?_ In a _War?_ Did he look like he wanted jam for a brain?

Precognition sounded interesting from the summary, about to see events split-seconds before they happened, getting a kind of empathic sense of good or bad or dangerous events happening near-by. That could be _incredibly_ useful. It also sounded a little bit like those 'Bad Feelings' that Han Solo kept having in Star Wars, which made it _very_ tempting to take.

Natural Animagus form meant that he would be able to easily shift between himself and his animagus form upon his first Transfiguration lesson where they cover the subject, it would also allow for partial transformations as well. He was _incredibly_ tempted but – at the same time – the Marauders had _earned_ their forms, and their names, part of him wanted to follow in their footsteps and earn his form. It hadn't been worth it last time because there had been no Marauder's left to name him, it would have felt _hollow_. And it would have done nothing but remind him of his losses. His therapist had been working with him on that before this incredible clusterfuck.

Magical Animagus and Creature Ancestry were _well_ out. He wanted no part of that madness. (He wanted kids but – being able to bare children regardless of the gender of the person that _forcibly bound themselves to him_? How did that work? Was he the one going to be pregnant, would he lay an _egg?_ It wasn't like he had a vagina.)

Considering it carefully, he selected Shadowmancy, because of the teleporting and item storage abilities it offered. And then precognition – that would be _so damn useful._

Now came the fun part, he guessed. Choosing how he looked.

He tapped the hair options and gagged as soon as he saw himself with white blond hair – no, no. Just no. He looked like one of Malfoy's relatives, and not even a particularly attractive one. Regular yellow-blond didn't look too bad with his skin and eye colour. Brown was... brown. It softened his face and made him look like a normal person, he was almost unrecognisable.

Red hair. Red hair was....

With a slightly shaking hand, he tapped brown eyes and stared down at the mirror parchment, at the face he could have worn had circumstances been a little different, if he had been born with his mother's hair and his father's eyes.

He took a deep breath and returned his hair to the familiar, comfortable black. And damn. That was a trip. He – he really did look like his father. Except he knew that he would grow out of it, that his mother's blood would win out eventually. He flicked his eyes back to green, too attached to that last piece of her.

He tried out various lengths and eventually settled on shaggy for now, purely because he didn't have the face for the long hair he _used_ to have being as young as he was. He toggled his need for glasses off and was very pleased to remove them.

Then he tapped to move his scar.

_Drag and drop your scar where you would like it to be._

He grabbed his scar and pulled it down his face, watching in the mirror as it followed as if stuck to his fingertip. He dragged it down to his stomach where it was unlikely to be seen by anyone except his dorm-mates, and it would be socially unacceptable to ask to see it. But then again, if it was going to _hurt_ like it used to.... perhaps he should put it on a limb he could ignore....

Stomach was probably a bad idea, chest was _definitely_ a bad idea – he might give himself a heart attack or have trouble breathing if the pain got paralysingly bad. Likewise he vetoed anywhere on his legs, he would need them to _run_ , and hobbling from the likes of Voldemort did not make for successful escapes. No matter what the Triwizard Tournament may have had his younger self believe. His left arm was probably his best bet.... His elbow maybe? Ah, no, there was a nerve directly in there. The number of times he'd smacked it and his whole arm went weird was too numerous to recall, he didn't particularly want a curse scar right there.

His hand. His left hand. He could ignore an awful lot of pain as long as it was localised in an area he didn't desperately need. And since his right hand would be wand wielding, it was probably for the best. And besides, he didn't want Voldemort to know that the scar caused him pain this do over, that was his early warning system and an advantage he was loathe to give up. Best to let everyone believe that any pain in his hand was because he was clumsy and had burnt himself or sprained his wrist or something.

He dragged the scar down to rest on the palm of his left hand.

It looked like a brand, like he had grabbed hold of a hot doorknob or something and it had burnt itself into his flesh.

Well.... At least now he had the option of just straight up amputation to deal with getting rid of the Horcrux.

Satisfied with his appearance, as he could always let his hair grow out later if he wanted, he folded the parchments over again to return them to the envelope only to pause when he saw letters bleed through the parchment facing him.

_For your own protection while growing up in a muggle neighbourhood, your Metamorph abilities were sealed by Headmaster Dumbledore. Visit Madam Pomfrey at the Hospital Wing in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to unlock them._ [QUEST: Visit Madam Pomfrey] _  
Shadowmancy is rare and the abilities do not manifest until puberty. Level up your Guts and your Proficiency to unlock this ability._ [HINT: Level your Guts by performing acts of Bravery] [HINT: Level your Proficiency by performing delicate tasks that require concentration and care] _  
Precognition is rare and the abilities do not manifest until puberty. Level up your Kindness and Charm to unlock this ability._ [HINT: Level your Kindness by being nice to others] [HINT: Level your Charm by maintaining your appearance]

Guts, Proficiency, Kindness, _Charm?_

Were these the 'stats' mentioned in the difficulty pack? The one that he'd been forced to deal with at negatives because it was preset to Hard mode last time?

Either way, he sighed to learn that he wouldn't be getting any Metamorph abilities until he actually _started_ Hogwarts. He tucked the papers back into the envelope and flipped it over to find the save title and list of options as before. His fingertip hovered over New Game before morbid curiosity directed him to tapping Load on the off chance curiosity that it might put him back where he started.

**HARRY JAMES POTTER – GRYFFINDOR  
** **GAME CLEAR – 183,843 HOURS  
** **NEW GAME? Y / N**

No option to load it.

He sighed and tapped the New Game option.


	2. Chapter 2

His letter once again bled to emerald green ink and the familiar handwriting that changed his life ten years ago.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr Potter,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
_ _Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_

The second sheet had transformed into his equipment list, and there was a third beneath that informing him that until September the first Hogwarts was area locked, so even though he could apparate, he couldn't access the school grounds even if he took himself to Hogsmeade and walked up the path, or snuck into Honeydukes. Annoying. That meant he couldn't go to Madam Pomfrey to unlock his Metamorph talents ahead of time.

He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, glad to actually have something to run his fingers through. It had become a habit over the last few years to play with his hair, having it short again was going to take some dealing with.

Nothing else for it. He folded his letter up carefully and stuffed it back into the envelope which now read the address to his cupboard in merry green ink instead of the start menu. He eyed it grimly. Knowing that the whole process was automatic and that it was the house-elves that sent the letters off had calmed an itch in the back of his head that he'd never known caused him so much pain when dealing with Professor McGonagall but part of him still wanted to shake her and demand to know why no one kept an eye on these things? Surely it was the first warning sign of an unhappy home-life that Hogwarts would receive. He resolved to keep the envelope to show her.

Hm? He shifted the envelope to one side finding a leaflet in the pile of mail that hadn't been there before. A tourist pamphlet of Privet Drive – the _tutorial level?_

_PRIVET DRIVE  
_ _The safest corner of muggle England that a boy hero could have been stashed. In this tutorial zone there are starter quests and beginner dungeons. Find your feet and learn the ropes before moving on._

There were a few pictures of the neighbours, of Mrs Figg, each with little gold and blue exclamation points above their heads, a shot of Piers, Malcolm, and Dennis with red ones, and a picture of the abandoned car garage behind the park with a silver arrow above the door which was... ominously blacked out so he couldn't see inside.

There was a chime and he looked up, spotting the same silver arrow bobbing lazily above the front door of Number 4.

He then realised that there was a long green bar in the left corner of his eye, a blue one right beneath it, and a weird unhappy red squigly crest beneath that. His stomach growled, and the red crest flashed at him. Was it telling him he was _hungry?_ Was that really a thing he needed to be informed about?

He folded up the pamphlet and stuffed it into his Hogwarts envelope as well. He would look at it all later once he'd finished _talking_ to his Aunt and Uncle.

A quick wandless _alohomora_ got the front door open and he stepped in to see Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon stood in front of his open cupboard arguing. The two of them paused when they saw him and Uncle Vernon's face went impressively puce with rage.

“Where in the ruddy hell have you been, boy?!” he roared.

Harry eyed him and then flipped his envelope over to show them, “Halfway to the police station and talking myself out of reporting _both_ of you for child abuse and neglect,” he snapped harshly, and watched with more than a little gratification as they both blanched hard enough to go light-headed judging by how Vernon stumbled backwards a little. “ _Magic_ huh? I guess that means an awful lot of things suddenly make sense,” he continued ruthlessly, _angrily_.

“D-don't be stupid, boy. There's no such thing as – ” Vernon began to bluster, and Harry lit his hand on fire in response. Not the one holding the letters, his other one, the one with the scar. It was a neat little trick he'd picked up from Bill, sometimes they weren't allowed to bring wands into some cursed tombs, and there were often nasty traps involving pressurised gas or other chemicals in there that having a regular fire or even an electric torch could be a hazard. Magical fire though didn't require air to burn and it couldn't catch unless _Harry_ wanted it to. It could also be whatever colour he wanted. And he made a point of cycling through a few just to hear his Aunt and Uncle wheeze and squeak.

He extinguished the flames and then looked at his Uncle, feeling hatred and pain burning like the worlds sickest case of heartburn ever in the pit of his stomach, rising up his chest painfully. It had taken _so damn long_ for Harry to come to terms with everything he had gone through with the Dursleys. When he left them at seventeen, he thought he had accepted it, put it behind him. Afterall, he survived, he got out. He was _fine_. The utter implosion of his relationship with Ginny proved otherwise. His auror assigned therapist was supposed to only handle things related to his activities in the field, but she encouraged him to throw everything at her because clearly no one had ever helped him before. That was what she was there for. So they somehow ended up on the Dursleys, on Vernon and Petunia.

Never once had he wanted to hurt or terrorise them. He just wanted them out of his life and for three years they had been. He had managed to keep a somewhat tenuous link to Dudley, they talked awkwardly about their lives, his cousin seemed genuinely surprised and pleased that Harry was getting help before admitting that his girlfriend had suggested that he did the same. He was currently looking for a therapist that fit for him, he'd seen three before then but none of them had really worked out, he was glad that Harry found someone he clicked with right off the bat, it was rare. Outside of those therapy sessions he hadn't given the Dursleys much thought beyond the occasional curious 'do I do this because they taught me to do it, or because it's the best way of doing something', usually only when it came to cooking or cleaning.

And now he was face to face with them once again.

“Oh stop freaking out,” he snapped, “I'm not going to hurt you – _I'm not like either of you_ ,” he spat watching as the barb sailed right over Vernon's head but K.O.'d Petunia, making her flinch and go wobbly lipped. He stalked forward, not gratified in the slightest as Vernon quailed and recoiled away from him, white faced. He shoved the mail into the man's stomach, the words ' _we'll talk after breakfast_ ' bitter on his tongue before he swallowed them back.

No. They wouldn't talk after breakfast. He couldn't _stomach_ being near them anymore.

“Living room. Now,” he hissed sharply glaring at Petunia, “We need to talk.”

He felt jittery under his skin, like a poorly mixed bottle of pepper-up potion someone had shaken too hard as he stepped into the living room. He headed to the fireplace and watched darkly as the pair edged into the room as if they thought he would attack them at the drop of a hat – well maybe they should have fucking thought of that when they were shoving him into a cupboard and starving him and _everything else_. Did they honestly think he wouldn't figure it out, that the wizards would just ignore him? What the _fuck_ were they expecting?

He flicked a hand and the door slammed shut behind them before Dudley could get close enough to eavesdrop, and then he sealed it, cutting off his cousin's whiny complaint.

Vernon was beginning to regain some colour, this time out of sheer rage.

“Don't even start, Vernon,” the Gryffindor snapped, trembling ever so faintly. “Here's the long and the short of it. I woke up this morning and I immediately started walking to the police station,” he declared. Yet again they both flinched. “But half-way there I realised that even though it would have gotten me away from the both of you, it would have also saddled me with Dudley in a foster-care system that would chew him up and spit him out the otherside straight into a young-offender's institute. If he was lucky,” he added with a glance at Petunia whose expression twisted strangely as if she wanted to argue but couldn't actually do so. “What you two have done to me is illegal. Locking me in a fucking cupboard, feeding me scraps, and don't give me that shit about how I deserved it. I didn't. I was a _child_. A child placed in your care and you fucked it up so magnificently that you're now terrified of me the second you realise that I now have power.”

“ _What were we supposed to do?!_ ” Petunia burst, her voice shrill and tearful.

He glared at her coldly, “What would your sister have done?” he asked pointedly, and watched with an almost detached fascination as she aged two decades and had to sit down on the near-by sofa because her legs couldn't hold her weight. He looked at Vernon, “Here's how it's going to be. I have to stay here two weeks of the year in order to keep _you_ safe. Not me. _You_. I can get any old house protected to the point where unless I specifically tell someone it even exists, they can't see it. But they want me here, out of the way, safe and sound. I don't give a shit. So. You put me up in the _Guest Room_ for two weeks of the year, you stay out of my business, I'll stay out of yours, and at the end of those two weeks, I leave and you don't see me again until the next year.”

“A-and what do we get out of it?” Vernon managed to bluster out and Harry felt his temper slip a little, and a vase exploded behind him.

His Uncle blanched and recoiled away from him.

* * *

Harry left the house as soon as he got both Dursleys to agree to his terms, he was _starving_ , but he couldn't stay in that house. He just _couldn't_. Not without doing something he would definitely regret.

He sighed looking around, he could always go and explore for a bit.

His stomach growled, and he felt a sharp pain in his gut. The green bar in the top corner now had a little red chunk in it.

...Food first.

No, _money_ first.

To Diagon Alley and Gringotts Bank.

He quickly headed to the nearest unoccupied spot where he couldn't be observed and apparated to the Leaky Cauldron, feeling another sharp pain and saw a bit more red on his green bar. He grimaced warily and quickly headed in. No one glanced at him as he quickly scurried to the Alley entrance and jabbed the sequence into the bricks, flexing his magic to open the portal. The alley looked so cramped and weird now. After the whole Voldemort thing they'd enlarged it even further so it looked more like a muggle highstreet, they'd brightened it up a bit too. What a lot of patrons hadn't been made aware of was that a lot of the new street-lights were fitted with two way mirrors that fed directly back to the DMLE. Both Harry and a few of the other muggleborns came up with the idea after they spent a stint gaining some experience working with muggle law-enforcement.

He hurried through the crowds of people up to the bank, nodded politely to the goblins as he passed, and headed straight to an empty counter. Thankfully at this time of the day there were a few.

“Harry Potter. I'd like my vault keys recalled, locks recast, and new keys forged please,” he told the goblin when he peered over from his ledger.

The scowling being reached under his desk, drew out the blood quill and the enchanted parchment. Harry snatched up both without waiting for an explanation, not even flinching when he felt the sharp pain on the back of his hand and quickly wrote down his name, date of birth, and then let the quill go. It zoomed across the page, listing the number of keys that had been cast, who was currently in possession of them, and what vaults he had.

_VAULT 009347 – POTTER TRUST VAULT: x3 keys.  
_ _Key 1: Albus Dumbledore  
_ _Key 2: Albus Dumbledore  
_ _Key 3: Albus Dumbledore_

_VAULT 000842 – POTTER FAMILY VAULT: x2 keys  
_ _Key 1: Albus Dumbledore  
_ _Key 2: Albus Dumbledore_

_VAULT 015634 – EVANS' VAULT: x1 key  
_ _Key 1: Albus Dumbledore_

_VAULT 000421 – BLACK FAMILY VAULT: x8 keys  
_ _Key 1: Department of Magical Law Enforcement  
_ _Key 2: Regulus Black [deceased]  
_ _Key 3: Narcissa Malfoy  
_ _Key 4: Department of Magical Law Enforcement  
_ _Key 5: Walburga Black  
_ _Key 6: Orion Black [deceased]  
_ _Key 7: Department of Magical Law Enforcement  
_ _Key 8: Cliodna Zabini_

He stared down at the list of vaults. He had expected his trust vault, and the Potter vault. The Options menu said that bloodline vaults would be available but he had _honestly_ not expected his mother to have a vault, or for him to have ownership of the Black vault – not when Walburga Black, Sirius' mother, was apparently still alive. Though... he probably shouldn't be surprised. She would die either this year or next if he recalled Sirius and Kreacher correctly. And with her husband dead, the fact that she married into the family would mean that ownership of the vault would fall to her sons. Regulus was dead, and she had reinstated Sirius when she discovered he was a Death Eater, which meant it passed to him. But the Law stated he couldn't own it as a convicted criminal. Never mind that he had never been convicted? Sirius had named Harry his heir so it fell to him due to Ministry cover ups? Or did this mean he just had _access_ to it but didn't own it?

He didn't understand. Inheritance Law was something he quite cheerfully shoved off onto Suzy's lap. He was there to take people down and investigate crimes, she was the one to keep him on a muzzle and point him in the right location via motive and the other things he didn't know about.

The goblin gathered the paper up with a sniff and a wrinkled nose. “Wait here. Lock replacement will take two hours.”

“May I make a withdrawal in the mean time and return once the work is complete?” he asked, stomach grumbling unhappily at him. The sharp pain didn't happen, and the little chunks of red didn't grow, but he was still starving.

The goblin nodded, “Havocfang. Take Mister Potter to one of his vaults and begin the lock-replacement process,” he commanded, turning to one of the younger looking goblins behind him.

The trip down to his trust vault was short and sweet, and Harry found himself forced to transfigure a money pouch out of one of his sleeves because he didn't have any pockets. He grabbed enough gold to pick up a meal, his wand, and a change of clothes – the proper shopping could happen when the locks on the vaults were changed and he had some pockets to shove his money into.

Havocfang took down his vault number and cast some kind of a spell on the door before taking him back up to street level, and Harry swiftly headed out and to Madam Malkins'. It hadn't changed at all since its remodelling. The carpet was the same deep rose pink as the paint-job outside, it was thick and plush. The room was well lit and had several mirrors and floral decorations here and there. Racks of robes were towards the back in every colour and style imaginable, on the other side of the wall were four stacks of cloth bolts, each about two hundred of so long, spanning the wall from the cash-register to the back wall. Rose pink pouf seats were arranged artfully next to a large counter island in the middle of the store and several white stools.

Madam Malkin bustled over, enquiring if he was there for his Hogwarts robes. He refused, saying he was just after a quick casual robe for now but he would be back later for his Hogwarts things – he was just waiting for some Gringotts stuff to be handled in the meanwhile. Did she have anything simple he could wear? He didn't particularly want to wander through the alleys looking like – well, he gestured to himself, like this.

She tittered and quickly lead him to some off-the-rack robes. They were, to his eyes, horribly out of date, however, they _were_ slightly baggier. He never really _did_ get behind the 'slim fit' fashion that kicked off after the war, in the slightest. He rarely wore robes outside his work uniform and special occasions, but when he did, he preferred it to have some _swish_. Not being able to move or stride forward as he wished because he was essentially wearing a too small tube of fabric designed to make him look like a box was not comfortable. That particular fashion could do one.

He searched through and eventually found a nice dove grey a-line set of robes with a deep hood, it was simple but had a geometric pattern embroidered around the hood and cuffs, and came with a dull-blue belt around the waist. He took it to Madam Malkin and she quickly measured him and cut the robes to size, he paid ten sickles for it and ducked into the changing rooms to pull it on when the doorbell went again.

As he left, he saw Neville and his grandmother going over their order.

Next stop: Leaky Cauldron for food.

He let himself back into the establishment, made his order for today's soup, bread, and a hot butterbeer before summoning himself a copy of the Prophet and sitting down. Two paragraphs in he put it down with a disgusted shake of his head. He'd forgotten that Rita was still a thing around now. Deciding his time was better spent people watching, he turned his attention to the rest of the pub patrons, spotting the undercover Auror in the corner, the trio of hags he was watching as they smoked in the other corner, Dung playing cards with a few rather disreputable looking wizards and a goblin in a shadowy booth towards the back, Hermione Granger and her parents being ushered through by Professor McGonagall.

He watched them go, taking in how _young_ she looked. How uncertain yet excited her parents were. The expression of near naked relief on Professor McGonagall's.

Tom set his soup down in front of him and Harry immediately turned away from them to dig in, to drown the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wouldn't steal her childhood again.

The chicken and mushroom soup was delicious as always, Tom's fresh bread with thick melting butter was great too – Harry wondered if he employed a house-elf or something because it really was delicious and he hadn't seen the barman leave or anything. He drank his butterbeer down in one long drain. He knew he should savour it, and he would, _later_.

He was fed, watered, that hunger crest in the corner of his eye was _gone_ , his green bar was now once again 100% green, and he wanted a damn wand.

He would get his wand, head back to Gringotts, get his new keys, get a trunk, get everything he needed on his Hogwarts list, brew the ageing potion he needed – ah damn, he couldn't do that at the Dursleys. He could always see if he could _buy_ \- no, it was auror grade and under regulation. He needed to brew it personally. Which meant getting a room at the Leaky to do so.

...Was there anything at Privet Drive he wanted to – yes, there were a lot of things at Privet Drive he wanted to keep, and some he was going to keep _out of spite_. And a few things he was going to _take_ out of spite and because they meant more to him than to either of his relatives.

He got to his feet, gathering up his dishes, and took them to the bar before heading back into the Alley where he went straight to Ollivander's.

He paused, hand on the door.

...Did he really need to get an _Ollivander's_ wand?

A wand that would be brother to Voldemort, that would have a Ministry Trace on it, that would be immediately told to Dumbledore?

It would be weird if he didn't get one. People would ask questions. He grumbled unhappily and scowled at the door before shoving it open and stomping in. He would see about digging up another wand, going to a different wand crafter in another country or something. He wondered if there was a registry for wandmakers. It would definitely make sense for Ministries to keep track of it – could he write to the Department of International Magical Cooperation to ask 'completely innocently' about the subject?

He still jumped out of his skin when Ollivander appeared behind him – and nearly set the old man on _fire_ before cursing him out as foully as possible because HOLY SHIT OLD MAN COULD YOU _NOT?!!_ How the fuck you managed to survive to that age pulling this kind of shit with two wars under your belt was fucking astonishing, do you try to give all of your customers fucking heart failure or does it get you off at night? FUCK.

He _almost_ regretted the outburst, but the look of stunned confusion on the man's face was worth it.

Let Dumbledore know he was going to have one hell of a potty-mouthed Saviour on his hands who did not handle idiots lightly. He wondered if the Hat would put him in Slytherin this time, he was actually looking forward to finding out he decided as the wanker's cramp – _wand waving cramp_ set in. Yeah.

The warm touch of his Holly wand was much missed, and he felt his magic reach for it with familiarity and love that made the wood vibrate beneath his fingers with surprise. Harry's magic was familiar with its, but it wasn't familiar to his. The very faint presence within the wand, the consciousness that decided who it would allow itself to be wielded by, was confused, but ultimately shrugged its metaphorical shoulders and reached back, braiding itself into his magic.

He let the guy try to put the fear of Voldemort in him about his wand only to scoff and point out that wands were only as bad as the people who wielded them before paying for his and leaving.

Dumbledore was going to be so fucking confused.

Harry was kind of looking forward to it, if he was completely honest.

He headed back to Gringotts, got his new keys, went to his vaults, weighed himself the fuck down with gold and then went to the trunk shop where he got not only a really damn good bottomless featherlight backpack, but a trunk with three compartments, a library roller, an apothecary box, and two secret compartments that were really well hidden and impossible to detect with magic because neither of them _opened_ with magic. That set him back ten galleons, more than his _wand_ was worth.

But still. It was what he needed.

He whirled through Diagon Alley getting everything. All of his first year, second, and third year text books, included a few about magical culture in foreign nations, and wandmaking; he made a mental note to return when he had his ageing potion done to raid the more advanced sections where he wouldn't get a suspicious side-eye. The clerk rung him up with that familiar wall-eyed windswept look of someone who had just been _Hermione'd_ , and didn't even flinch at the tottering tower of books Harry slammed down in front of him.

He returned to Madam Malkin for his Hogwarts robes, got himself another few sets of casuals, made yet another mental note to return when his ageing potion was done, asked after a cobbler and left after shoving everything in his bag. A magical cobbler was nothing like a muggle one and Harry was forced to deal with his feet being _creepily_ fondled by a whispy old man who tutted and lamented over how lovely they could be if only they were taken care of. His feet were put into a potion mould, rubbed a little, and then a tape measure slithered over every inch before the old man shoved a few sheets in front of him and told him to decide on a shoe he wanted. School shoes, boots, dress shoes, casual shoes, and ass kicking shoes were selected and the old geezer lit up like the fourth of July to see his selections, promising to have them ready by tomorrow. (He made another note to return when older before just sighing and making a note to do another shopping trip for _everything_ when he had finished that ageing potion.)

Odds and ends came next. Telescope, planetarium, sextant, stationary, folders, etc. He _savaged_ the apothecary for ingredients, snapped and snarled over the quality of the glass before resolving to exchange some money to pounds and go get some actually _decent_ measuring equipment. Stopped by Zonkos to pick up some quick tricks and colour changing potions, as well as a grow your own warts kit – in absence an ageing potion, which he would need to make a trip to Knockturn Alley to get some of the final ingredients because they were restricted, it would make a better disguise than nothing at all.

And then, as he was passing Eeylops', he saw Hedwig in the front window, head tucked under her wing, sleeping soundly.

He walked in before he could think better of it.

* * *

He got himself a room at the Leaky, set Hedwig up inside as comfortably as possible before heading back to Privet Drive with his backpack. He emptied his cupboard of _everything_ , including that ancient crayon drawing he forgot last time, crawled into the attic and dug up that ancient box that used to belong to Petunia's parents and dug out the old yellowing photographs of his mother. He dug up the wedding album of his grandparents whom he'd never met, the hand-made lace Christening gown, a white china pot with a jade green Chinese dragon painted carefully upon the surface that was full of incense sticks and scented candle wax, a scrapbook of pressed flowers, and a hipflask with a winged antlered wolf engraved upon it.

Petunia wouldn't miss it.

Dudley had messaged him about it the year after he left asking if he wanted any of it because they were moving out of Privet Drive and his mother hadn't wanted to take it with her.

He took it all back to the Leaky Cauldron, stiffly telling his Aunt and Uncle he was staying elsewhere for the evening on his way out, making another mental note to himself to get their agreement actually written up and ratified so that they couldn't wriggle out of it one way or another.

Once back in his room, he got to work on that potion with almost fevered determination. Thankfully, because it was an _Auror_ number, they had managed to find a way to shave down the brewing time from a day to only eight hours, and most of that was spent simmering or cooling.

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn Harry has a mouth on him.
> 
> Sorry if people don't like the confrontation with the Dursleys' but I literally cannot see him **ever** being the type to terrorise his relatives no matter how much he hated them. He doesn't even terrorise _Draco_ , all of their fights have been instigated _by_ Malfoy, Harry would literally rather ignore his existence 90% of the time. Classic avoidance tactics. However, if Harry wants to retain a level of freedom, he needs to remain with the Dursleys to a degree. It just... might not go as he originally _planned_. Magic is does the thing because lol. You'll see.


	3. Chapter 3

He finished the ageing potion in the small hours of the morning, filtered the sediment out of it, and then bottled the whole lot before cleaning up and falling into bed. He only got four hours because he still had shit to do, so he woke up exhausted and generally angry at the world, but it was important so he bathed to wake himself up and headed down for breakfast. The sooner he got his contracts written up with the Dursleys, got himself a house in Hogsmeade, got it _warded_ up to the eyeballs – shit no, he needed to get a second _wand_ before he could have it warded. Unless he was willing to – well, he _could_ try hiring someone to lay the wards for him.... But would Bill be willing to at this stage in his career? Charlie would have graduated three years ago now, Bill five years. He would still be considered a Journeyman, if not a _Junior_ still, cursebreaker and warder.

He sighed, aggravated. No. It would have to be him. That way he could anchor them properly and include the ones that hadn't yet been _invented_ into the very matrix of the foundations (wild thing about civil war, people got to inventing defensive magic with alarming success when their lives and families were on the line).

He ate his sausage and egg bap quickly, drained half a pot of tea, paid, and hustled ass out into the back where he quickly jammed both entrances with a little spell work. He conjured a mirror, took the hundred and eighty three millilitres he needed to age up to his twenties, transfigured his robes before he busted a seam, downed a Zonkos' colour changing potions and waited until it cycled to a colour he liked before freezing it, and then transfigured himself a pair of yellow-gold framed glasses. He then cursed his hair longer and tucked his wand away after changing the colour of his bag and robes.

By the time the two entrances finished unsticking themselves, the young pale blond haired man with his sepia coloured robes and fussy neck-cloth was just as frustrated as the other alley patrons who had been attempting to get in and out. He made a show of grumbling and fussing over his appearance and his papers before stalking down the alleyway, swinging his hips to make his robes _swirl_ around his ankles dramatically.

It would be best to look into housing first, that way when he went to the legal office once he had an idea of what property he wanted he could deal with the Dursley situation at the same time rather than go back and forth. Maybe he could even ask them about other wand-makers as well?

He marched his way past Gringotts and to the intersecting alleyway up ahead, Vertic Alley, where there were a lot more _boutique_ styled stores and businesses. He rarely had cause to head up this way even as an Auror, in fact, he tried to avoid it because – well. He passed a shop that boasted its founding all the way back in 314, selling the ' _finest in house-elf servants_ ', a glittering golden cage prominently displayed in the front window filled with very young elves wearing unmarked sackcloth. They were practically babies and Harry felt sick to his stomach with fury. Both he and Hermione had raised a glass six months ago when they'd finally gotten that shop shut down, and here it was, open, and selling what was practically _babies_. The elvish equivalent of six to eight year olds.

He turned his face away, furious and unable to do anything to help them, and marched to the nearest estate agent, making a mental vow to make more of an effort to help Hermione this time round when she began her S.P.E.W. crusade. The weight of the 'Potter' name behind her once they'd graduated had really put some grease on the wheels for getting shit done – whether that was because he was the 'Man Who Conquered', or because they worded their arguments against the practice as decidedly anti-Voldemort, and insinuated that anyone who supported the house-elf trade were secretly Death Eater sympathisers, was up for debate.

He was warned that property in Hogsmeade was hard to come by, but they had a small number of listings. All of which were _hideously_ expensive and came with a surprising number of restrictions on frontage and roofing and general aesthetics of the building in order to maintain the tourist attraction nature of the town. It was actually _prohibitively_ expensive, even for him. The Ministry didn't want Hogsmeade to get any larger, most of the people who lived there were relatives of various pureblood families who didn't want to _mingle_ with the riffraff of muggles in other settings, or empty and used as a status point (“Oh yes, haven't you heard? They're so rich they have _two_ properties in Hogsmeade.”).

He had practically been on the verge of giving up when he noticed a property listing on the map just outside the village proper, amongst a small smattering of houses just out of sight of the village a twenty minute walk away. It was on the very edge of the Forbidden Forest and _less than half_ the price of the houses inside the village.

He booked a viewing immediately, despite the estate agent delicately trying to push him away from the listing, simpering that it really wasn't fit for occupation at this moment in time (“Are we a wizards or not, sir? My client will just _fix it_ if he decides to take the property,” he scoffed). He arranged it for the following day and left, heading to the legal advisers that was just up the way, by-passing shops catering to funeral arrangements, boutique baby clothing, and something that made him do a double-take: Alchemy. He would have to go back to that one in a bit.

The legal advisers' office smelt like a muggle library when he stepped in, and he was met by an older witch who looked like she could have been a librarian, wearing stately navy blue robes trimmed in silver with her salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a severe bun. But she had dimples and a kind smile for him as she lead him into the backroom where tea and biscuits were summoned and they had a good long chat about what he was looking for.

They came to an agreement once she'd heard what he was after, and charged him a flat rate of ten galleons for legal advice, time, and to write his requested contracts, ratify them once signed, and even loan him the use of a bloodquill for the purposes of signing said documentation. The cost of losing the quill would be another five galleons onto his bill, so it was best he didn't. Between the two of them they demolished two more pots of tea and managed to draw up two different contracts, one each for Petunia and Vernon, each laying out joint and individual demands and stipulations. For Vernon, it was laid out plainly that he wasn't allowed to lay hands on him, seek to harm him, interfere with his magical education, his comings and goings from the property, spread malicious lies or rumours about him, or throw him out until his majority. Petunia was not allowed to withhold food, seek to harm him, interfere with his magical education, his comings and goings from the property, or spread malicious rumours and lies about him. In exchange, he would not report their abusive behaviour to the muggle or magical police, he would protect them from magic users coming into the house with intent to harm, and should they have magically inclined descendants they don't want, he will adopt them out of the family with their permission. i.e. if Dudley's children have magic, Harry will come and take them away with _Dudley's_ permission in order to prevent them from having the same childhood as him, unless he deemed the child in danger if they remained.

He didn't have one written up for Dudley. He was only _ten_ , that was several orders of magnitude out of line.

Contracts written, spelled, and tucked up into a file to be taken to the Dursleys' later, Harry enquired about the privacy laws around wands. His 'client' purchased a wand from Ollivander and the man immediately went haring off to inform the Hogwarts headmaster about its specifications, he isn't happy regarding this breach of his privacy.

Unfortunately, Madam Forrester told him, wand specs do not fall under privacy law, though perhaps they should. Sadly however, the Ministry is still officially in a state of 'martial law', thus all privacy laws are defunct for the moment – people forgot to return power to the Wizengmot after the fall of the Dark Lord. Though judging by the displeased sniff she gave at that, she must have been pretty sure forgetting had nothing to do with it, and knowing Fudge? Harry wouldn't put it past the man either to 'forget' to give up that kind of power. She gave him the name of a few wand-makers, and her recommendation as she had a foreign made wand herself. He tipped her for her help before seeing himself out, their names and addresses noted down to be looked at later.

He headed straight for the alchemy shop, but found his hand bouncing off the handle with a sound like a record scratch.

[ **You must have the :POTIONS: skill at level :ADVANCED: or higher, or :ALCHEMY: at :BASIC: to enter this area** ]

He rubbed his tingling fingers with a petulant scowl before grumbling and shuffling off. Potions skill at advanced? He was over NEWT level, thank you. He brewed an _auror_ level potion just last night you cheeky fuck. He stomped his way down Vertic Alley back towards Diagon Alley grumbling about how the Options page hadn't mentioned skills what so ever, neither had the – the leaflet. _That_ might have some answers. The so called 'tutorial level' of Privet Drive. Good thing he was actually planning on going there later.

But first, that unregistered wand.

He headed for the floo in the Leaky, dropping a handful of knuts to Tom so he could get a handful of powder to whisk him away to the Ministry – and the best part of using the floo meant that he got to skip the annoying ID badge process. He also decided to skip the long line to the receptionist desk for wand registry because, well, he didn't _have_ a wand to be registered in his current disguise, did he? He got into the lift and headed for International Magical Cooperation where he could get himself a portkey to any other magic quarter in Europe.

The wandmaking book he skimmed over last night in-between stirring the ageing potion spoke very highly of the Italian wandcrafters, and Madam Forrester had recommended them too, which made sense given how European wandcraft _originated_ from the Roman magic users as they absorbed the multitudes of cultures and magical disciplines across their empire. There very well may have been wandcraft elsewhere in the world, he honestly wouldn't have put it past the Chinese to have developed it a few thousand years earlier, decided it was quaint but not good enough, and moved onto something else. But he doubted he would ever find any records in England or Europe saying anything about it – they were very good at erasing history that they didn't like and thought far too highly of themselves.

The woman at the portkey counter bought his excuse of needing a new wand, and was appropriately scandalised yet unsurprised to learn that Mister Ollivander had disclosed personal details of his last wand to the headmaster of Hogwarts without permission, so he would be taking his business _elsewhere_.

He really did prefer the Italian magic quarter. He had only been there once before, but it was _stunning_.

It was surprisingly clean when compared to Diagon Alley, and London in general to be completely honest. And _open_ despite being underground. He remembered boggling at the sight of the ceiling, stretching up _high_ above them, a gentle, almost lazily curving gigantic mosaic done in precious metals, gems, and stone. Charmed to give off exactly the same amount of light as the sky-outside.

The transport hub of the Italian magic quarter was set on a slightly raised pavement in a large circular open cobblestone plaza, the stones were pale yellow and almost unnaturally clean of moss and lichen. There was a Taxi rank, a single neat row of white taxis lined up one in front of the other, their drivers, male and female, smoking and chattering happily to one another in rolling Italian. A little further behind them was some kind of Floo station, a long line of fireplaces, about twice Harry's height tall and five times wider, gently smouldering in the warm almost-sunlight above. There were about ten of these super-huge Floos, big enough for entire families to arrive all at the same time, witches and wizards stepping in and out in huge variously styled togas as was the preferred fashion in the Italian quarter.

Harry ignored the few glances his decidedly non-standard British robes garnered him as he made his way off the portkey and apparation hub. It was a somewhat raised platform with multiple coloured bricks laid out in a grid with wide open spaces around them, if Harry had to describe them, it looked almost like the designs on the Marauder's Map for the classrooms. The centre squares were entry and exit points for apparation, they had wide open unmarked space around them so the person who popped in could step out of their square and leave without stepping into another, and potentially Splinching themselves with another incoming Witch or Wizard. Around the sides were the portkey drops and pick-ups. Each square had a sign-post and an attendant in a neat navy-blue and grey uniform.

He turned away from the various entry points to the underground area and looked up, and up, at the snow white marble building fashioned to look like an Ancient Roman temple, complete with high columns, a long staircase, and a deep portico. Gringotts. A much cleaner, grander, and _straighter_ looking Gringotts compared to the one in Diagon Alley, which looked like it could do with a few cleaning charms. And yes, the Goblin Guards stationed outside were wearing golden armour, looking very much like tiny demonic gladiators mixed with soldiers. England really was the ugly step-child of European magic quarters in his opinion, compared to the few he had seen over the last few years.

Outside the transport hub, which was set in the very heart of the magic quarter, was a ring of important service shops and the essential bread and butter of every magic quarter, or so he felt.

A small Healer's Clinic, looking remarkably like a muggle drop-in centre with large glass frontage and posters in the windows, and what could have only been a small Auror Outpost. The Italian Aurors looked nothing like the British aurors, and not for the first time he felt a sting of longing as he eyed their very practical and subdued uniforms. They didn't wear robes, or togas, or roman armour. They looked closer to muggle officers than anything else. Or rather, they would have if not for the _clearly_ magical materials used to make their clothing and their equipment. Dark grey and navy blue uniforms, trousers with _pockets_ , utility belts, armoured dragon-hide vests, wrist guards with mirror communicators, wand holsters, hidden knives, and a few had hoods with facemasks and goggles. Not only that but it looked standard issue, smart, and not at all eyebleedingly Gryffindor (the number of Hufflepuffs that outnumbered Gryffindor in the auror department was ridiculous, none of them appreciated the _scarlet robes_ ).

And finally, the wand shop. Simple, quaint, and entirely out of place in this zone of white marble and pale yellow sandstone seeing as it was made of wooden logs. It even had flowery hanging baskets for decoration. Harry couldn't read the Italian sign, but the displays of wands, rings, staves, even a sword, and a stick with a little golden star on the tip, more than explained just what he was looking at. Even though it looked more like a cheery Swedish Café than a wand shop.

* * *

Thirteen inches, cedar wood and phoenix feather, whippy.

He had very nearly had an aspen wand, but the crafter only shook her head and told him to keep going, they were here to find his _best_ match, not his first match. And so his wandwaving continued for another hour until he must have gone through her entire stock of phoenix feather wands, and even a few unicorn and dragon wands in complimentary woods and lengths before she was satisfied they'd found his One. Still, he was happy, and headed back to England with his wand held tight and a new language under his belt after spending so long sucking on a language lozenge immersed in gregarious chattering Italian.

It was afternoon now, he headed to the Leaky and removed his disguise in the bathroom before lunch, using a purging charm that had him vomiting up the ageing potion that came up like congealed gravy and nearly had him vomiting for real. He hated that texture something fierce. Jelly was no longer a substance he could tolerate in his mouth. He felt a bit shaky as he sat down to a pork roast with potatoes, carrots, and broccoli but once he'd eaten and spent a while sipping and savouring his butterbeer a lot better.

Then he went to get his shoes before returning to his room in the Leaky where he packed everything up.

He let Hedwig out and told her to meet him at Number 4 Privet Drive before heading back downstairs to pay Tom his outstanding tab. He trundled his way out and hid down the alleyway so no one could see him apparate. He kept forgetting he was actually ten now, and a ten year old performing controlled apparation was something to take notice of – and freak out about.

He appeared straight into the guest bedroom of Privet Drive, and set his trunk down at the foot of the nice double bed with its cream and red floral print counterpane, gathered up the paperwork from the specialist, transfigured his robes into something more muggle appropriate and then headed down stairs. Dudley was pigging out in front of the TV in the front room, laughing at what was _tentatively_ identifying as some sci-fi cartoon about robots that transformed into cars and trucks. Petunia was in the kitchen doing the washing up, Vernon was still at work thankfully.

He stepped into the kitchen and knew immediately that his Aunt had noticed by how her shoulders went tense. He laid the paperwork out on the kitchen table after making sure it was clean and there would be no grease spotting through the paper.

“I saw a solicitor and had contracts drawn up,” he informed her plainly, “So that everyone knows exactly where they stand in regards to each other. Give it a read. If there's something you want to argue, say so now and I'll take it back to Madam Forrester to rewrite,” he explained, sitting down on the opposite side of the table so she could approach with.... less fear than she otherwise would have. He could tell the change in his behaviour was already freaking her out, he was most definitely not acting like a normal ten year old boy, but he honestly couldn't find it within himself to fake it, he really couldn't. He would have to when he got to Hogwarts, if only to keep Dumbledore and Snape off his ass, but here? For them? He didn't see the point. Their opinions meant less than nothing to him.

Petunia swallowed, set the plate she was cleaning back into the water, dried her hands, and headed over to pick up the contract, looking deeply disturbed and uncomfortable. She sat down opposite him with tense shoulders and a face like she'd bitten into a lemon as she scanned through it. It was kind of fascinating to study her face as it ran the gamut of emotions, falling in confusion, dismay, twisting in irritation and confusion, and then finally ending on something similar to the one she wore the last time he saw her when he was sending them off into protective custody at seventeen. Like there was something she wanted to say, an apology or a justification or just _something_ , but she couldn't get the words out, didn't know what to say.

“What will happen if one person breaks the contract but not the other?” she asked warily.

Harry shrugged, “I don't know. I will report _that_ person to the police, both sets, magical and non. What they find out about the _both_ of you is not on me, nor covered by the contract. You two will just have to keep an eye on each other,” he decided ruthlessly, in absolutely no mood for any kind of word or mind games from either of them.

She swallowed and then read Vernon's contract, grimacing at the specifically emphasised demand he not get physical with him before frowning as she laid both out in front of her. “You – haven't got one for Dudley,” she observed hesitantly.

“He's _ten_ ,” he snapped in disgust, “Disregarding the fact that it wouldn't be legally binding, I'm not putting a _ten year old_ under magical contact, he wouldn't understand the majority of what I'd be asking from him and if he broke it because he _would_ , the consequences aren't going to care that he's ten, just that he's an oathbreaker.”

Petunia's expression was strange again, “ _You're_ ten,” she reminded him almost fearfully. As if she weren't sure that it was true.

He scoffed and glared at her, “Did you ever let me have a childhood?” he demanded, and was gratified to see her flinch and look away. “If you have no objections, sign the damn contract. I have shit to do before tomorrow.”

She opened her mouth reflexively to scold him for the foul language, only to close her mouth with a click of teeth and reached for the quill he offered her, “What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked almost warily, even as she flinched and stared in horror at the shining line of red blood on the contract she'd left behind when she started to write.

He sniffed, “Keep writing. It's a blood quill, it won't hurt you or curse you. They're used with all legal documentation to prevent identity theft,” he explained with a dismissive grunt, knowing that Petunia and Vernon took a particularly dim view on it after they nearly lost over two grand of their savings when someone stole Vernon's identity a few years ago. Or so he said, Harry had his doubts to be honest. She took a deep breath and kept writing, practically throwing the quill down when she was done and rubbing the back of her tingling hand with dismay.

He blew on her signature to dry it after before he tucked it back up into the folder, “I'm meeting an estate agent about a house,” he explained calmly once it was put away. “I can't stomach staying with either you or Vernon any longer than absolutely necessary, so I'm getting my own.”

She spluttered, “You're a _child!_ Do those freaks just give a house – ”

He held up a threatening finger at her, “One, do not ever use the freak around me again,” he growled, watching as she flinched back. “Two, you don't get to call me a child, Petunia. Not when you did everything in your power to deny me a childhood and treated me like vermin instead. And three, let _nothing_. I'm buying it. I looked up an ageing potion, changed my hair, my clothes, and booked an appointment as an adult.” He then narrowed his eyes on her, “Mum and Dad were _magical police officers_ , not homeless, not unemployed. Dad's family were Old Money as well.” Her eyes slid away with a familiar pinched look as he explained, she knew, she knew all of that and she'd still lied to him all his damn life. “And I now own all of it. And the first thing I'm doing is finding a place to live where I won't have to scavenge for scraps out of the bin, sleep in a cupboard, and look over my shoulder in fear of the next smack to my head, wondering if it's going to be you with a frying pan, Vernon trying to give me a concussion, or your son trying to break my nose.”

She was silent.

He scoffed, checking that he had her contract stored away properly before talking out of the kitchen back to the guest room. Dudley was completely oblivious as he passed, utterly absorbed in the television cartoon playing.

He ditched his bag on the bottom of the bed, changed into some non-transfigured clothing and left again, closing and sealing the door with his cedar wand before heading downstairs to the front door, a chime filling his head as he laid a hand on the handle – glowing green words scrawling themselves across the glass window in front of him.

[ **WELCOME TO PRIVET DRIVE, THE TUTORIAL LEVEL OF HARRY POTTER and the PHILOSOPHER'S STONE. IN THIS LEVEL YOU WILL LEARN ALL OF THE COMMANDS AND USEFUL HINTS AND TIPS NEEDED TO SUCCEED ON YOUR PLAY THROUGH, AND LEARN ABOUT EVERYTHING AROUND YOU.**

**THERE ARE THREE SOCIAL LINKS AVAILABLE TO YOU.  
** **THERE ARE THREE QUESTS AVAILABLE TO YOU.  
** **THERE ARE THREE BATTLES AVAILABLE TO YOU.  
** **THERE ARE THREE INVESTIGATIONS AVAILABLE TO YOU.  
** **REMEMBER TO BRING YOUR HOMEWORK PLANNER, SO YOU CAN LOOK AT YOUR STATUS.  
** **REMEMBER TO BRING YOUR MINI-MAP WITH YOU, ANY SCRAP OF PAPER OR PARCHMENT WILL DO.  
** **REMEMBER TO BRING YOUR BACKPACK WITH YOU, DO YOU CAN CARRY EVERYTHING YOU FIND.**

**THE LEVEL CAP FOR PRIVET DRIVE IS: 5** ]

He stared at the information floating gleefully in front of him before turning on heel and going back upstairs, a little stunned but now with growing excitement at the very large and obvious sign of considerable 'game' mechanics. Okay, his homework planner would tell him his status, that was interesting, he wondered if it was _all_ of his homework planners or just the one he owned right now, his Junior School one? He kind of hoped it was just his JS one, he would need his Hogwarts one to actually organise his homework – he had no intention of wasting his education this time around. How many times, even on the run from Voldemort, had he wished to know something and been forced to rely on Hermione? Never again. He'd already planned to let her have a childhood this time around, so he was going to have to pull his finger out and put in the hours this time over.

He unsealed his room, dug into his trunk, and pulled out his junior school homework planner.

**Name:** Harry James Potter  
 **DOB:** 31/07/2000  
 **Wand:** Holly/Phoenix Feather/11”/Supple, Cedar/Phoenix Feather/13”/Whippy  
 **House:**  
 **Level:** 1  
 **EXP to next level:** 300  
 **Reputation:** -50 / +300

**Health Points:** 100  
 **Magic points:** 300  
 **Status Ailments:**

**Intelligence:** 2  
 **Proficiency:** 3  
 **Guts:** 4  
 **Charm:** 1  
 **Kindness:** 5

Only _two_ intelligence?!

_One Charm?_

Oi! What the hell?!

He scowled down at the booklet, unreasonably offended even as his brain oh-so-helpfully pointed out that he had barely studied, and apart from showering regularly he did absolutely nothing for his appearance. He flipped the page and blinked down at the full profile set out for him.

**Gender:** Male  
 **POB:** Godric's Hallow, Wales  
 **Scar:** Left hand, palm  
 **Bloodline talents:** Precognition, Shadowmancy, Metamorphmagus

**Current Equipment-  
Weapon:** Cedar wand  
 **Armour:  
Accessory:  
Accessory:**

**Skills:**

There were more tabs down the right side than he remembered there actually being in his planner, and all of them said very different things: Social links, Party Members, Fights, Quests, Investigations, Bestiary, Dossier, Items, Journal.

Curious, he flipped through them all.

His social links were blank, party members blank, fights blank, quests blank, investigations blank, bestiary – Acromantula, Boggarts, Cerberus, Dementors, Dragons, and information about all of them along with pictures and little arrows pointing to weak spots and saying which spell or attack would do best where. Dossiers had little profile pages and pictures of everyone from Aunt Petunia to Mrs Figg, Hermione, Fudge, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Madam Bones, Florean Fortescue, Ollivander, Dumbledore, even Nagini. It even had profile pages for the _locations_ he'd been so far, Privet Drive, the Leaky Cauldron, Madam Malkins, Vertic Alley, Knockturn Alley and the dodgy potions shop he ducked into in order to get the last restricted ingredient he needed for the ageing potion, the Italian Magic Quarter, the Ministry of Magic and the departments he had passed through. The Journal was – exactly that. A journal detailing what he had been doing so far, and also listed about his appointment tomorrow with Mister Mobbs about the property at the edge of Hogsmeade. Huh. _Useful_.

He grabbed a scrap of parchment and shoved it into his pocket before checking his backpack again and emptying everything out that he didn't think he'd need before swinging it on and heading back out, sealing the door behind him as he went so neither Dudley or Vernon could get into his stuff.

The same message popped up as he touched the front door, he ignored it and stepped out.

Privet Drive was.... completely unchanged.

He tried not to be too disappointed as he glanced around, seeing nothing out of the ordinary as he slowly made his way down the path to the driveway. He dug the mini-map out of his pocket and huffed in disgust when he unfolded it to reveal – a whole lot of nothing. He was shown quite clearly, a pair of little green footprints, Number 4 was also in clear relief, Petunia still in the kitchen, Dudley in the living room, the front and back gardens were inked in quite nicely, but everything outside was blank.

At least until he took a few steps out of the garden and the little section of the street in front of him bled through with brown ink, drawing itself onto the paper – he heard a little chime and green ink began to write itself onto the paper, [ **EXPLORE YOUR SURROUNDINGS TO FILL IN YOUR MAP – COMPLETE ALL MAPS TO GAIN AN AWARD** ].

Well. That was both annoying and – well, he supposed this was how his dad did it in the first place. The Room of Requirement wasn't on the map, neither were half the dungeons, the Slytherin Common Room, the Chamber of Secrets and a few other little places too.

He tucked the paper away and set out to map every inch of the neighbourhood, walking quickly.

Only to stop as he spotted something glinting in the gutter. Unnaturally glinting, irregardless of the sun and movement of light around it, it continued to glint rhythmically at him as he crept closer. He picked it up and stared in confusion as he heard a chime.

[ **OBTAINED :PEDIGREE DENTASTIX:** ]

...Dog treats?

There was another chime and he saw green lettering appear on the wrapper, [ **YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU FIND MIGHT BE USEFUL. PUT THIS IN YOUR BACKPACK FOR LATER** ]. Well.... that was true, he guessed. He could give it to Fang if nothing else, maybe Fluffy would need it later, who knew? He shrugged his bag off and opened it up, pausing when a window popped up in front of him, a whole bunch of panels appearing and a small green caption reading, [ **YOU HAVE A BOTTOMLESS BACKPACK – YOU HAVE ENDLESS STORAGE. PRESS THE TRIANGLE BUTTON TO MANUALLY SORT AND ARRANGE YOUR ITEMS IN WHATEVER ORDER YOU WANT. SCROLL FROM TOP TO BOTTOM BY DRAGGING THE ARROW ON THE SIDE UP AND DOWN. SELECT AN ITEM BY TAPPING ITS PANEL, TAP THE OPTION THAT POPS UP TO USE THAT OPTION** ].

He dropped the treat into his bag and watched as it appeared in the first panel. Curious, he tapped it bringing up 'USE – GIVE – INFO – DISCARD' as options. He tapped the info segment and received another window explaining that it was a treat for dogs that doubled as a way of cleaning their teeth and freshening their breath. When consumed _by humans_ , it gave +10 health, -3 intelligence, +1 charm.

He shook his head and closed the bag, swinging it back onto his back and continuing his walk, trying not to imagine what circumstances might prompt him to eat dog treats as he spotted a few other glints that took him to a blackberry bush (a crafting item that couldn't be used yet – made multiple items like apple and blackberry pie, blackberry jam, and could be fed to birds), and flowers (a crafting item, nothing was listed as an example). He saw Uncle Vernon at the bottom of the road, and frowned at the little glittering blue exclamation point behind the car opposite him.

He opened his map and saw green writing pop up next to the blue exclamation point.

[ **INVESTIGATIONS. SPECIAL TASKS THAT INVOLVE RESEARCHING OR SNEAKING AND LEARNING ABOUT YOUR SURROUNDINGS, SOMETIMES COLLECTING ITEMS, AND SOMETIMES TALKING TO CERTAIN PEOPLE. YOU HAVE FOUND YOUR FIRST INVESTIGATION. GO TO THE BLUE EXCLAMATION POINT TO TRIGGER YOUR INVESTIGATION** ]. Nervously, he did so, creeping over behind the cars until he was beneath the floating blue marking, there was a soft chime and a window popped up in front of him.

[ **YOU SPOT UNCLE VERNON LINGERING DOWN THE ROAD AT NUMBER 12 ACTING SUSPICIOUSLY. WHAT IS HE DOING THERE? INVESTIGATE!  
** **ACCEPT? YES – NO** ]

That was a damn good question, what _was_ he doing outside number 12?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Harry finally decides to start the TUTORIAL level of Privet Drive. XDD Yeah. As demonstrated in this chapter, this game is not COMPLETELY open world, Harry will be locked out of some places due to his level/lack of skills, and some places he'll need to deal with before he reaches a certain level too - haven't decided what.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Reference to animal cruelty, bullying, infidelity, and Harry's morals

...Who lived at number twelve again?

Harry scratched at his head, frowning in aggravation. He didn't remember anything about Vernon being involved with anyone at number twelve, but then again, he couldn't even remember who bloody well lived there so he had no chance of being able to guess that. Well. He was _supposed_ to be investigating – time to get his nosy on he supposed.

He tapped the [ **Yes** ] option and looked up from his map to see Uncle Vernon throw one last suspicious glance around, unable to see Harry through the car he had ducked down behind, before heading up to the front door. He knocked, and a pretty blonde haired woman with dark eyebrows and heavy make-up answered. She smiled and he watched as Uncle Vernon leaned forward.

His eyebrows shot up as the woman immediately jumped backwards, looking upset, and then gestured him quickly inside. Vernon followed, already loosening his work tie which – damn. Just when he thought his opinion of the man couldn't sink any lower. Unless he was just jumping to conclusions? Harry had always been of the opinion that Vernon genuinely loved Petunia, that was why he put up with the whole magic thing. But... maybe it was more complicated than that? Maybe it _wasn't_ that easy. There was no excuse for cheating, but with an adult mindset even Harry could acknowledge the pressure that was probably placed upon their marriage just by his being in the house. The threat of shadowy murderous people they couldn't protect themselves from, the chance that they might be attacked for protecting him, Harry's own volatile magic popping over the years in various ways, disrupting their lives. But still. Harry always assumed he loved Petunia enough to deal with it. He could have always left. There was nothing stopping him.

...Nothing except the possibility of losing custody over Dudley.

And if he was found to be abusive towards Harry then there was a high chance he would lose visitation rights entirely as well. Damn. Well, that explained a _few_ things – _IF_ it was true – about their relationship. Things he had been too self-absorbed and young to realise last time around. Unless this was new? For the game only?

Except, he _had_ been playing the game last time, he just hadn't realised apparently.

And thinking about it, last time around now, Uncle Vernon had been attempting to nail the letter box shut with a slice of fruitcake rather than having the time and inclination to wonder to places and houses unknown.

Harry crept forward, darting between cars and crawling below the top of the garden wall to the front gate which he very carefully nudged open. Thankfully the front garden of number twelve was small, and she didn't have a driveway, he was very easily able to make his way to the front door and peer in through the letter box, spotting Vernon and the strange woman engaged in a very deep lip-lock.

He grimaced in disgust to see it and silently closed the letter box. Well that confirmed the affair theory. Though how the hell that woman found him attractive enough for it was anyone's guess. He glanced through the front window to see a regular, normal front room, and a large wedding picture above the mantelpiece featuring the blonde lady and a brown haired man smiling ear to ear in a suit with pink trimmings that matched her dress and bouquet. So. She was married too. And to an actually attractive young man. What the hell was she doing sucking face with _Vernon_ when she was married to _that_?

He sighed and shook his head at the sheer bewildering comprehensibleness of it all before turning around, pausing when he saw the recycling bin glinting like an item would have. He tapped it but nothing happened. Opening it up revealed it was full of papers and washed out plastic milk bottles and cereal boxes in a foreign language – and three glinting pieces of paper.

[ **FOUND :PHONE BILL FOR <MRS KATARZYNA OBCZYNSKA>:**]  
[ **FOUND :HOTEL RECEIPT:** ]  
[ **FOUND :HAMMOND'S RECEIPT:** ]

 _Hammond's_ receipt?

The really expensive jewellery store at the bottom of the highstreet that he always got the jewellery for Aunt Petunia's birthdays and wedding anniversary presents? Oh. Oh no. Did that mean he had _also_ been getting his _girlfriend_ jewellery from the same place?

And a hotel receipt? For when _Mr_ Obczynska was home?

There was a chime as he stowed all of his proof into his backpack and he paused to dig out his map-parchment.

[ **INVESTIGATION – SUCCESS  
** **VERNON DURSLEY IS HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH MRS OBCZYNSKA WHOSE HUSBAND IS OFTEN AWAY  
** **RETURN TO NUMBER 4 TO COMPLETE THE INVESTIGATION** ]

He got the feeling that if he _did_ return to Privet Drive, everything was going to hit – the – _fan._

He would keep exploring and come back to it later.

He sped away and continued to explore Privet Drive and Magnolia Crescent, finding a butterfly (crafting item), and come more flowers before he spotted Piers lurking at the Smooth Bit, an area next to a block of flats where the road was uncommonly smooth and well laid compared to the rest of the area. Hence the name. All the skater kids preferred to play there because it was easier to roll over the smoother tarmac than the crusty road tarmac. But despite there being evidence of wax on the curbs, and plastic streaks left behind by grinding rollerblades, there was just Piers. With a bloody red exclamation point hovering above his head.

A chime brought his attention to the map.

[ **BATTLES, A RED EXCLAMATION MEANS A FIGHT AWAITS YOU! BATTLES PROVIDE BETTER THAN AVERAGE REWARDS AND CAN TRIGGER SOCIAL LINKS AND IMPROVE YOUR GUTS AND REPUTATION. LOSING WILL NEGATIVELY EFFECT YOUR REPUTATION.** ]

Did he want to pick a fight with Piers?

Was he _comfortable_ with the idea of smacking around a ten year old kid?

No, not really.

He sighed and moved on, circling around to Wisteria Avenue where he spotted a golden exclamation point above Mrs Figg's head as she stood in her front garden, visibly fretting over something. He heard a chime from his pocket and it was getting to be reflex at this point to pull his map out to see what it had to say this time.

[ **QUESTS, A GOLD EXCLAMATION MEANS A QUEST AWAITS YOU! THESE WILL TAKE YOU TO SPECIFIC AREAS FOR CERTAIN TASKS, COMPLETE THE QUEST TO EARN A BETTER THAN AVERAGE REWARD. QUESTS CAN TEACH YOU SKILLS, EARN YOU SOCIAL LINKS, AND RARE ITEMS. SOME QUESTS ARE LEVEL LOCKED.  
** **MISSING KITTY – REQUIRED LEVEL 3  
** **YOUR LEVEL IS NOT HIGH ENOUGH FOR THIS QUEST** ]

Well that was him told.

How did he up his level?

He grumbled, continuing his walk, hearing Mrs Figg mutter worriedly about Mister Darcy, one of her newer felines if he recalled, as he passed.

He heard a chime and opened the map.

[ **HINT: GO TO THE ABANDONED CAR DEALERSHIP** ]

He scratched around the ancient recesses of his brain. Car dealership? There was one on Winchester Road but – oh no, wait, the _abandoned_ one! That old place. It was around the corner from the Smooth Bit and behind the block of flats. There were two entrances but the kids could only access one of them and that was the back door where the staff came in and out. Dudley bullied him into crawling through the broken windows once when he was seven, he'd shredded his hands open on broken glass but stole an old spiral bound book of licence plate numbers. Dudley punched him in the face as soon as he got out and stole them off him, but he knew exactly where to go _._

He doubled back and headed around past Piers again, and then up the ancient side-path, having to shove overhanging dog-rose branches up and out of his face, and pick his way through more brambles and blackberry bushes and stinging nettles (gaining himself another five blackberry portions in the process), and then he saw the image that appeared in the leaflet about Privet Drive. The abandoned car-dealership with its ominously blacked out front entrance, which he remembered as being boarded up but clearly wasn't anymore, and a little girl with strawberry blonde hair hovering outside, clutching the hem of her red skirt, on the verge of tears.

His map chimed.

[ **ELLA'S DOLL – REQUIRED LEVEL 1  
** **PIERS AND HIS FRIENDS BULLIED ELLA INTO SNEAKING INTO THE ABANDONED CAR DEALERSHIP. BUT SHE WAS FRIGHTENED AND SOMETHING JUMPED OUT AT HER. SHE LEFT HER DOLL BEHIND. GO AND GET IT FOR HER.  
** **ACCEPT QUEST? YES – NO** ]

He tapped [ **YES** ], and watched as the gold exclamation point turned into a large golden arrow, and a smaller silver one appeared over the little girl's head. Accompanying this was a chime on his map.

[ **GOLDEN ARROWS, THESE ARE SPECIFIC TO QUESTS. WHEN YOU HAVE ACCEPTED A QUEST YOU ARE NOT LOCKED IN TO COMPLETE IT IMMEDIATELY. SOME QUESTS WILL HAVE TIMELIMITS AND ONCE YOU ACCEPT THEM YOU WILL HAVE TO COMPLETE THEM WITHIN THAT TIME-LIMIT. THE GOLDEN ARROW WILL TELL YOU WHICH QUESTS YOU HAVE ACCEPTED THAT ARE STILL ACTIVE. CHECK YOUR PLANNER TO SEE HOW LONG YOU HAVE LEFT TO COMPLETE CERTAIN QUESTS** ]

[ **SILVER ARROWS, THESE WILL POINT TO SELECTED POINTS, TARGET ITEMS, OR TARGET PERSONS, IN SPECIFIC – IF YOU ARE ON A QUEST AND NEED TO SPEAK TO A SPECIFIC PERSON, THE SILVER ARROW WILL POINT THEM OUT TO YOU** ]

Useful. Okay. So before he could start he needed to speak to the little girl, whom he assumed was probably this Ella.

He took a step forward and the little girl jumped a little when she heard the gravel crunch under his foot, whipping around to look at him with large devastating brown eyes that teared up almost immediately when she saw him.

“Hey, hey, I'm not going to hurt you,” he soothed, crouching down so he would look less threatening. “I'm Harry, what's your name?” he asked gently, studying her. She couldn't have been much older than six, maybe seven, wearing a little red skirt, knee high white socks with the cut out patterns, light up pink trainers, a pink t-shirt with a cartoon dog on it and a white cardigan.

“E-Ella. Ella Louise Ridley,” she told him with a big honking sniff.

“Hi Ella. You look upset, what's wrong?” he asked.

Her lips trembled, “P-Piers pushed me over, and – and he told me I had to go in there – and it's scary and dark and I dropped my doll and – ” she hiccuped and began to cry, fisting one hand into her eye to rub the moisture away as her whole face went pink with distress. She was not a pretty crier, then again, he had yet to meet anyone who cried, _really_ cried, and managed to look attractive at it. And she was very clearly upset about losing her doll, and too scared to go back inside and get it. Even if this hadn't been a quest he would have offered to do so.

“What does your doll look like? I'll go and get it for you,” he soothed, watching as she sobbed a little more, her bottom lip pouting outward as she roughly rubbed her eyes and sniffled.

“S-she's got curly brown hair and – and a blue dress and – and her name is Belle,” she explained, calming down now with the promise of her doll's return.

Harry got to his feet, idly marvelling at the lack of cracking and popping from his knees as he did so, “Wait right here, I'll go and get her. If you see Piers, you hide, okay?” he suggested, watching as she nodded and snuffled an affirmative.

Smiling at her one last time, he turned and stepped into the thick muffling blackness of the car dealership entrance. And out into the middle of a messy gloomy room, little glinting lights in various places indicating items, but.... this place looked _nothing_ like Harry remembered it. The dealership was actually really small, or at least the garage at the back was, but this was twice as big as it had been in his memories and it looked like there was a second or even third floor, and more rooms beyond this one.

His map chimed, and he opened it up, pausing when he noticed that the entire street he had just walked away from was nowhere to be seen, just this room, and now instructions.

[ **YOU HAVE ENTERED AN ADVENTURE ZONE. IN AN ADVENTURE ZONE, YOU CAN BE ATTACKED BY MONSTERS. DEFEAT THEM TO GAIN EXPERIENCE POINTS, BUT FAIL TO WIN AND YOU WILL DIE, GAME OVER, AND RETURN TO THE LAST PLACE YOU SLEPT. OPEN YOUR MENU TO EQUIP WEAPONS AND ARMOUR** ]

Weapons and _armour?_

He glanced around himself suspiciously before pulling his homework diary out of his backpack and flipping it open. His current weapon was his Cedar wand. He went through the instructions that popped up explaining how to chop and change his equipment, and read that eventually he would obtain skills that would allow him to create or enchant better weapons and armour for himself, or even obtain the ability to dual wield more wands, or swords, or even learn how to use guns (because apparently he could get hold of guns now?! He knew shotguns and rifles were legal in certain circumstances but he didn't think handguns were legal).

Then he read something that made his blood chill.

[ **BASIC SPELLCASTING UNLOCKED** ]  
[ **BASIC SPELLS UNLOCKED** ]  
[ **BASIC ATTACK TECHNIQUES UNLOCKED** ]

What did it mean by 'basic spellcasting/spells'?

He flipped through to his profile and frantically flipped through until he found a spell-list. The majority of them greyed out, numbers beside them, and a note beside them explaining that despite his playing New Game + because he was at level one he couldn't use any high-level magic because he simply wasn't strong enough. He needed to level up and unlock them.

What the _fuck?_

He was apparating and summoning and using spells left right and centre before hand! He went to Italy, he needed to prep certain ingredients certain ways using very specific spells for the ageing potion, all of which were greyed out on the spell-list. Was this... had he just shot himself in the foot by even opting to play the game the way it should have been? Had beginning the tutorial fucked himself over? He quickly stowed the map away and drew his wand.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

Nothing. Not even wisps. Just that record scratch he heard trying to get into the Alchemy shop on Vertic Alley.

oh... shit.

What did this mean for his plans tomorrow? With the Estate Agent?

Something moved in the corner of his eye, and he jerked up just in time to see something black spit at him from under a table.

Yelping, he ducked under it and darted forward and away from whatever it was, watching as the fluid splattered across the stone where he'd been stood a split second before and began to fizz and melt.

 _Acid?_ What the _hell_ was spitting _acid_ at him in an abandoned muggle car dealership in Little Whinging?!

A bundimund with a bad attitude that was what.

What was it doing _here?_ And what was it _black?_ They were supposed to be a mouldy green colour, a dusty green-grey shade, maybe about the size of a coffee cup's circumference or smaller, this thing was the size of a dinner plate, glistening black, and it spat _acid_ at him! Bundimun couldn't spit! He secreted a fluid that _rotted_ things, that was why infestations could destroy houses and all, but, they didn't do acid. And certainly not in concentrations enough to melt stone like that!

His map chimed and Harry cursed as he dodged another squirt of acid.

“ _Incendio!_ ” he snapped, jabbing his wand at the creature, hoping to ward it off.

Instead, it went up like a firework, screeing painfully as it caught fire and writhed, and then vanished, burnt to nothing.

His map chimed again.

Popping up first when he opened it was the first message, [ **TRY CASTING AN ELEMENTAL SPELL – DIFFERENT ENEMIES WILL HAVE DIFFERENT WEAKNESSES. SOME MAY NOT BE WEAK TO ANYTHING. AND OTHERS BY BE PARTICULARLY STRONG AGAINST CERTAIN ATTACKS. EXPLORE YOUR OPTIONS.** ]

Followed by:

[ **YOU HAVE DEFEATED BUNDIMONDAI  
** **RECEIVE: 30EXP, 50 KNUTS, ACID OOZE** (crafting item)  
 **EXP TO NEXT LEVEL: 270** ]

Acid ooze?

Did he just get _money_ for killing it?

He put his map away, but before he could unswing his backpack he heard skittering in the corner of the room and looked up, feeling a small clench in the pit of his stomach when he spotted another _three_ ...bundimon _dai?_ crawling out from behind and under broken furniture and discarded machinery.

He tried to just trap them, but basic transfiguration couldn't make anything able to contain them, and they were undoubtedly dangerous. It didn't feel right just killing them though. Like – animal cruelty or something. But even using a levitation charm to pick them up and flick them into a wall in an effort to scare them off just left black smears that flaked away as if the whole creature was just made of mould-spores and a light touch would be enough to crumple them like ash.

Even kicking one of them when it got too close made it pop and vanish.

Were they actually real?

Harry was starting to get a little freaked out by this whole video game thing, and he decided he really didn't like it. He was used to dangerous situations and things trying to kill him, that was nothing, but it was the fact that... no matter what he did, they just died? And he didn't have any non-lethal spells apparently. Matchstick into needle wasn't going to help him here at all.

Maybe he could try the bluebell fire? It was warm and didn't burn at all? Or he could just run through and ignore all the creatures to get Ella's doll and run back?

That sounded better.

It shouldn't be too hard.

She was only six, she couldn't have gotten far into the building with these things lurking around.

He moved quickly through the room, not spotting the blue doll before heading to the door, only to find it locked up tight. However, there was a staircase. It looked sturdy enough, and it didn't creak too badly when he went up it and peeked into an office full of moth-eaten sofas and derelict desks. The blinds were covered in a black fungus that twitched and vibrated a little as he walked in, and he could see more bundimondai attached to the walls and in the corners here and there.

An open door was at the far end of the office, and he could see the tell-tale glint of various items here and there. Many of which he didn't particularly want to get close to because of the wildlife.

He moved quickly – and then all hell broke loose.

A bundimondai attempted to squirt him with acid, but he ducked out of the way. Instead, the fluid struck the weird black stuff on the blinds, and he realised with horror that it hadn't been fungus.

It had been a nest of _doxies_.

He bolted, racing into a corridor and stomping on a bundimondai as he went, blindly throwing incendio's over his shoulder as the swarm of doxies went straight for him. It sounded like his pocket was receiving a phonecall with the way his map was chiming but he was _not_ paying it any attention as he jumped over a – a weird orange bundimondai that oozed wetly on the floor.

He ignored it and dove practically headfirst down the stairs at the end of the corridor, tumbling gracelessly and hitting the wall at the bend, and realised that the swarm was no longer following him.

Panting he collapsed back against the wall, on his ass, on the corner landing of the staircase.

Fuck.

That was... more fun than he'd usually like to have when he didn't even _have_ an antidote to doxy venom on him, or anywhere near-by for that matter.

He hadn't seen Ella's doll yet either, but then again, he hadn't had a chance to check the other rooms in that corridor, too busy trying to escape death by a thousand needle-sized bites.

Eventually, he heaved himself onto his feet, attempted to cast a quick cleaning charm on reflex, only to scowl when it wouldn't come, hearing that same familiar record-scratch sound that meant he had been unsuccessful.

He checked his map, seeing multiple lines about how he'd killed bundimondai and doxies, and one Grey Slime.

The fuck was a slime?

He was now level 2, he had gained 1 Chemical Ooze, 3 Acid Ooze, and 17 Itching Powder. All crafting items. And 2 sickles worth of knuts.

He blew a strand of hair out of his face as he stared down at the list before turning his attention to the actual map, tracing his finger along the corridor he sprinted down, seeing at least two more accessible rooms. However, both had their doors shut so he doubted Ella would have gone in them to be completely honest. The room he was in right now seemed to be the main show-room, it was a huge open space with a broken desk, and windows boarded up with soggy sagging chipboard wood that had begun to moulder. Ivy and other plants had begun to grow over the other windows, casting eerie green light throughout the filthy room, and it seemed almost....

suspiciously devoid of creatures given how infested the rest of the building was.

And then he saw Ella's doll in the middle of the floor, in the centre of the room.

This whole place was giving him the creeps so he quickly made his way in, determined to grab the doll and get the fuck out when – as soon as he scooped it up, he heard metal scraping across the ground behind him, and the temperature dropped enough for him to see his own breath in front of his face.

The same way it would if he had encountered a dementor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **HARRY IS NOT A GAMER**
> 
> I want to really highlight that before I get people in my comments complaining. He is not a gamer, he doesn't know the trope, he doesn't know how games work. In his mind, he is an ordinary person who has walked into a building and been attacked by what would basically equate to the local wildlife. His first reflex isn't going to be gamer 'I found a place to level up, let's slaughter the enemy population'. It's going to be 'I would really rather not kill a living creature for trying to defend itself and its territory'. 
> 
> Give it time. I'm trying to ease him into this.
> 
> As for Vernon's affair, it is only a _tutorial_ level investigation. I couldn't make it too interesting because I needed to keep it realistic within the confines of basic game mechanics. Sorry guys, gals, and non-binary pals.
> 
> The story about going into the abandoned car dealership is actually a true one. I was about Ella's age, and small enough to get through the A4 sized broken windows, so the delinquent down the road, whose sister I was friends with by virtue of being one of the few other children her age in the area, got me to crawl in there and find stuff for him. I cut both of my hands open on the glass, got a booklet of licence plate numbers, and came back out. Only I kept the licence plate numbers, I refused to give them to him because _I'd_ been the one to go and get them and I bled for them, so I deserved them more than him. I hid them and then went to my brother's friend's house which was a bit closer to my home and asked his mum to help my hands because mum was at uni that day. So she cleaned me up, and the delinquent's younger sister stole the licence plate booklet while I was having my hands bandaged. Top 10 anime betrayals, I know. Who would have believed it *sarcasm*

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, Ron and Hermione will not be big parts of the story. Harry is twenty in his mind and while he will forever love his friends he feels as though he robbed them of their childhoods.


End file.
